Not Such a Bad Holiday After All
by theclarinetchica
Summary: John doesn't have a date for Valentine's Day, so he drags Sherlock on a date. Just a silly bit of fluff and a whole lot of Johnlock
1. Chapter 1

Just a silly bit of Valentine's Day fluff. I'm not a huge fan on the holiday, but this little scene popped into my head and begged to be written. Dedicated to **MrsNoggin**, who has been helping me through some rough times recently. You've helped me more than you can ever imagine.

* * *

"Why do you insist on dragging me out- away from my experiments, mind you- on this insignificant commercial holiday?"

"It's not insignificant for me. And since you seem to ensure that I can find a date, you are here with me." John led Sherlock into the restaurant, wondering what had possessed him to bring him along. He hadn't wanted to spend Valentine's Day alone, but that was definitely preferable to dealing with all six feet of whining detective for several hours.

"Look, can we just try to have a nice, normal night?" John pleaded.

"Normal?" Sherlock arched one eyebrow.

"Normal for us?" he amended.

"I will do my best."

John gave his name to the host and they were led to a small table toward the back of the restaurant. It was dimly lit, a candle on the table shedding enough light for the two men to see each other. John looked around at the other diners, noticing all of the couples out for a romantic night. He was surprised to realize that he didn't really miss dating. Yes, he still yearned for some kind of physical relationship, but overall he was content with his life with Sherlock.

Their waiter was quick to recommend the oysters, with a wink and a whisper of "very romantic." John opened his mouth to explain that they weren't on a date, but decided that it didn't matter whether this stranger thought they together or not. Sherlock ordered the waiter's recommendation, while John decided on pasta.

They ate in a comfortable silence, John surprised to watch Sherlock eat without complaining. He filed the fact in the back of his mind; perhaps he would try it next time Sherlock refused to eat. Their water returned with an expensive-looking bottle of wine.

"We didn't order…."

"This was sent to you, compliments of a friend," he explained.

"Mycroft," Sherlock spat, looking disgusted. John shrugged; he wasn't about to let it go to waste. He finished one glass before Sherlock relented, enjoying the vintage.

"This was nice of your brother," John observed.

"Nice has nothing to do with it. He's toying with us."

"What do you mean?"

Sherlock turned his head, refusing to look at John. "He has been implying for months that we are a couple," he said quietly.

John's heart dropped. The feeling surprised him, and it made him realize something that he had never really actively considered before. He only took a beat before replying, "Does that bother you?"

"That man is about to propose," he changed the subject suddenly, leaving John to wonder what exactly was bothering Sherlock. They finished their meal, John promising Sherlock that they would stop on the way home and pick up some ice cream for dessert.

John climbed up the steps and put the ice cream in the freezer for later. He expected to turn on the telly and watch one of the stereotypical Valentine's Day movies, however when he turned around, he found Sherlock much closer than he had anticipated. The detective stepped into his personal space, raising one hand to cup his face. John leaned into the tough, forgetting for a moment that it was Sherlock who ran a thumb across his lower lip. His eyes opened and sought Sherlock's own gaze, finding a depth of emotion he would have once thought impossible for the younger man. John nodded consent, and Sherlock's lips found his own. The kiss was quick and chaste, asking silently _Is this okay? _They pulled apart, leaning their foreheads against each other. Sherlock's eyes took in John's face carefully, uncertainty coloring his features.

"Did I do it wrong?"

"No, not at all," John answered, breathless. He suddenly surged forward, recapturing Sherlock's lips, who made a noise of surprise before responding enthusiastically. John pressed him against the wall, sweeping his tongue along Sherlock's bottom lip. He opened his mouth, allowing John to explore, moaning slightly as their tongues wrapped around each other.

"Fuck," John swore, Sherlock's hands running down the muscles of his back. Sherlock twisted expertly, trading places with John. His lips drifted, trailing kisses along the stubble of John's jaw, ending with the sensitive skin under his ear.

Sherlock traced the shell of John's ear with his tongue before murmuring, "Maybe it's not such a bad holiday after all." He dew John's earlobe into his mouth, making John gasp.

"Care to take this somewhere more comfortable?" John suggested once he had control of his voice. This made Sherlock back up slightly, apprehension etched on his face. "Not to do…" John trailed off, "Just somewhere where we're not standing up."

"Oh," Sherlock looked relieved, though John knew better than to let on that the emotion was so apparent, "Then by all means, let's go."

They made their way to Sherlock's bed, slowly exploring each other. John felt giddy, the rush of making the genius gasp and writhe simply with kisses was intoxicating. He wondered how it would feel when they went further. Sherlock was incredibly responsive, and John smiled to think of the ways he could make him lose control.

"Sherlock?" he whispered as he felt sleep begin to overtake him.

"Hmm?"

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"For humoring me"

"Well, it seems it worked out. Just don't expect me to eat every time," Sherlock wrapped himself around John, resting his head on John's chest.

John laughed, and tangled their legs together before pressing a kiss to Sherlock's temple. "Goodnight, love."

As they fell asleep, John smiled to himself. It seemed like this was the best Valentine's Day yet.


	2. Chapter 2

This is the unexpected second chapter. Inspired by and dedicated to the fantastic **starrysummernights****. **Darling, I wish you could know how much your kind words mean to me.

* * *

It had been two weeks. Two weeks of Sherlock pressing against John, of rolling his hips and "accidentally" thrusting his erection against John's thigh. It was driving Sherlock insane. He wasn't terribly experienced at being in a relationship, but he had thought he was sending clear signals. John probably thought what he was doing was unconscious; he was far too chivalrous for his own good.

Sherlock opened his laptop, pulling up a search engine and typed in the words "how to tell a man you want him sexually." He was surprised at the sheer number of results. Although, if all men were like John, it was no wonder women needed advice. He absorbed page after page, concocting a plan that would send John the right message.

* * *

John roared his approval as the team scored, clapping Lestrade's shoulder as they watched the rugby match. He looked over at Sherlock, noting his boredom, and wondering why he had even decided to accompany him to the pub. Despite John offering every time he met Greg for a match, this was the first time Sherlock had accepted.

"Another beer?" Greg offered, standing up.

"Sure," John replied, handing over his empty glass.

"Sherlock?"

"No, thank you," Sherlock smiled, but it was insincere. John watched as Greg threaded his way through the crowded room, heading for the bar.

Turning back to Sherlock, he asked "Not that I'm complaining, but why did you come tonight?"

"I was bored," was the flat reply, "though it's not much better here."

"You're free to go home, if you want."

"On second thought, I'll have another drink after all," Sherlock left John at the table, returning shortly with both Greg and a fresh pint. John watched as Sherlock drained his glass, wondering what was going on. Sherlock stood, heading back to the bar.

"What going on with him?" Greg voiced the question John was thinking, concern in his voice, "Did you two fight or something?"

"We didn't fight, and I have no idea what's up." Sherlock took that moment to reappear, having traded his beer for whiskey.

"You're going to regret that later," Greg nodded at his glass.

"I'm fine," Sherlock snapped, settling back into the seat next to John. They turned their attention back to the game, John starting when he felt Sherlock's hand on his thigh. John reached down, entwining their fingers, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. He almost spat out a mouthful of beer when Sherlock's fingers accidentally brushed his cock, and John moved their hands toward his knee. He knew that Sherlock didn't mean to do it, but it was becoming very trying to not take advantage of him. Greg and John sat entranced by the game while Sherlock watched the other patrons of the bar.

"I'm getting another drink," Sherlock said suddenly, standing up and hurrying away. Greg just looked over at John with raised eyebrows, who shrugged in return. When Sherlock returned, he sat next to Greg, which confused John. Had he done something to upset Sherlock?

John's heart froze when he saw Sherlock lean over, whispering something close to Greg's ear, making the older man laugh.

"Come on, it's time to go," John said gruffly, standing up and putting his jacket on.

"But the match isn't done yet," Greg protested.

"Text me with the results," he said, holding Sherlock's coat out for him. They hurried out into the cool night air, Sherlock's hand on the small of John's back.

John had a hard time controlling his voice. "What the hell were you doing in there? Flirting with…" he trailed off as Sherlock leaned down, licking a long line up his neck.

"Mmmm…" he whispered, "I love your neck."

John was speechless for a few moments, complexly flummoxed. "Are you wearing cologne?" he was finally able to say, voice higher than normal.

"Do you like it?" Sherlock murmured against his ear.

"We're getting you home. You're drunk," John led Sherlock down the street, making quickly for their flat.

John barely had enough time to walk through the door before Sherlock pressed him against the wall, capturing John's mouth with his own.

"Wait, Sherlock," John had time to pant as the taller man assaulted his throat, "You're drunk, we should go to bed…."

"I am not drunk, John," Sherlock said, peppering kisses along his jaw.

"Bullshit."

Sherlock propelled himself back, demonstrating his sobriety by walking a straight line. "See? I am not drunk." Sherlock returned to John, pinning him against the wall, placing a light kiss on his lips. He took John's hands, placing them on his own waist as he assaulted John, delving into his mouth. John could taste the bitterness of beer still on Sherlock's tongue as they kissed lazily for a moment. He was brought up short by the tightening of his jeans. John knew they needed to stop; he didn't want to force Sherlock.

"Sherlock," he said, voice tight, "We should just go to bed." Sherlock stopped, looking down at John, confusion apparent.

"Why?"

"I'm tired," John looked away, he knew that if he kept looking at Sherlock he wouldn't be able to keep control of himself.

"Fine," Sherlock said quietly, and pushed himself away from the wall, leaving John to compose himself before following.

They readied for bed, dancing around each other in the routine they had become accustom to in the two weeks John had been sleeping in Sherlock's bed. He climbed in, waiting for the detective to finish brushing his teeth. Looking up, he found Sherlock standing at the side of the bed, obviously uncomfortable. Eyes softening, John smiled, lifting the duvet and shifting over slightly to make room for Sherlock.

"Well, come on then," he invited. Sherlock stayed standing, shifting from foot to foot and not quite looking at him. John was immediately concerned, "What's up?"

"We should stimulate each other to orgasm, John."

John couldn't help it- he barked out a laugh before he regained control of himself. Sherlock's face fell and he sank onto the edge of the bed, back toward John.

"Don't be like that, Sherlock, you just surprised me. Are you sure you're ready?" he sat up, moving behind Sherlock. John nuzzled the side of his neck, pressing kisses through the thin fabric of his t-shirt.

"John, I have been ready. What do you think I've been doing for the better part of a week?"

"Oh, uh, I just thought it was an unconscious reaction…"

"I am the master of my own transport," Sherlock said haughtily.

John arched an eyebrow, "Oh, really?"

"Of course," he replied, sounding less sure of himself.

"Turn around," John ordered. Sherlock obeyed, shifting one leg up onto the bed. John cupped his face, kissing him slowly, drawing Sherlock's tongue into his own mouth and sucking gently. Sherlock whimpered, hands coming up to brace against John's chest.

"Do you trust me?" John asked, locking Sherlock's eyes with his own.

"Yes," Sherlock said, anticipation lowering his voice an octave. John's fingers found the hem of Sherlock shirt, pressing gently against his skin. His fingers felt electrified; he could feel Sherlock quiver with just this simple touch. John flattened his hands against the strong muscles of his back, smiling against Sherlock's lips as he felt the muscles of his lower back flex. He knew he could name them, but right now he could only concentrate on the heady feeling of Sherlock pressed against him.

Sherlock's hands moved from John's chest and moved toward the bottom of his own shirt, hands trembling. He plucked at the hem briefly before John took charge of his hands, moving them back to his waist.

"Let me," he ordered gently, and lifted the shirt over Sherlock's head. He directed Sherlock toward the center of the bed, pressing him back against the pillows. John shifted and straddled Sherlock, breath catching as he felt the promise of Sherlock's erection against his inner thigh. He ran his hands down the planes of Sherlock's chest, just barely skimming his skin. He shivered slightly as John pressed wet, open-mouth kisses along his neck.

John sat back, drinking in the sight before him. Sherlock's lips were parted and slightly swollen, a temptation too much for John. He braced himself on either side of Sherlock's head, dipping to capture his lower lip between his teeth, growling slightly. Sherlock's hands came back up, grasping at John's shirt.

"No," the older man ordered, "Let me do this. Hands on the headboard." Sherlock's eyes widened. "Do you trust me?" John asked again, he wanted to make sure Sherlock was comfortable with what they were about to do. He nodded, hands reaching up to grasp edge of the dark wood. John smirked- he was going to enjoy making the genius lose control.

John recaptured his lips, exploring his mouth thoroughly with his tongue. As they kissed, John's hands skimmed lightly over Sherlock's pectoral muscles. He smiled against Sherlock's lips as he felt the muscles dance under his touch. His hands moved lower slowly, teasing with each sweep down. John finally sat up, pulling his own shirt over his head. He lay back down, pressing their bare chests together.

Sherlock's hands released the headboard, pressing against John's back. John sat up, breaking Sherlock's hold.

"Headboard," he ordered, using his Captain Watson voice. Sherlock immediately obeyed, lips parting as his breath hitched. John filed that fact in the back of his mind; perhaps one day they would try role-playing.

John licked a line up from Sherlock's collarbone, ending with the soft skin below his ear.

"Are you ready to beg yet?" he asked, tongue tracing the shell of Sherlock's ear.

Sherlock swallowed and took a moment before responding. "No," he said stubbornly.

John grinned against his neck, biting down gently, then soothing the mark with his tongue, making Sherlock gasp. John switched sides and repeated the process, leaving matching marks on either side of that glorious neck.

As he worked his way slowly down Sherlock's neck, his fingers found the waist of his pyjamas. Mouth quickly replaced fingers as he traced the waistband, pressing butterfly kisses along the hem.

"Up," John ordered, hands gently directing Sherlock to lift his hips, removing that last barrier. It was John's turn to bite his lip as he sat back on his heels, memorizing the sight before him. He had imagined what Sherlock would look like bare, but the reality had turned out to be better than his speculation. Sherlock's impressiveness was more of length than width, his cock as long and graceful as he was.

John grin was predatory as he ran his hands up Sherlock's legs, feeling the muscles twitch underneath his palms. He watched as a bead of pre-come leaked from the head of Sherlock's cock, licking his lips unconsciously. Sherlock watched from lidded-eyes, breathing heavily. John could tell he was trying not to give in, and he leaned down, licking up Sherlock's inner thigh, fingers brushing lightly against his sensitive perineum. He watched Sherlock carefully, eyes focusing on the teeth worrying at his full bottom lip while John brushed teasing fingers along the crease of his hip.

"John, please," Sherlock begged. It seemed he had finally had all the teasing he could take.

"Hmm?" he asked, sounding far too innocent.

"I need…"

"Tell me, Sherlock. What do you want?"

"I want…" he trailed off as John pressed kisses to the inside of his thigh.

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"Please…suck my… don't make me say it…"

"Shy, huh?" John smirked, "Do you want me to suck your cock?" Sherlock nodded, blushing, and John took pity on him, licking a long line from base to head. He gasped as John wrapped lips around his cock, hollowing his cheeks as his tongue rolled expertly around his swollen head. John reached down to release his own erection as he wrapped one hand around the base of Sherlock, adding slight pressure as he sucked.

"Oh fuck," Sherlock swore suddenly, and John understood. He sat up, hand pumping as Sherlock exploded, coming with a force that impressed John. Sherlock arched his back, muscles twitching as he rode out the waves of his orgasm. John reached down, hand circling his own cock as he pulled one-two-three times and followed Sherlock with a shout, collapsing against him.

"Master of your own transport, huh?" John said wickedly after a few minutes, smiling in his post-orgasm haze. It seemed Sherlock was still coming down from his high, gasping and staring at John with a dazed expression. They lay there for several minutes, relaxing as the endorphins flowed through them, slowly trailing off.

"Ugh," John said, rolling off Sherlock, "I forgot how sticky this was." He sat up, glancing over at the detective, who was still laying there, eyes unfocused. "Joining me in the shower?"

He propelled himself off the bed, laughing at how fast Sherlock moved after him, beating John into the bathroom.

"Perhaps round two?" the detective called, turning around and giving John a devilish grin. "It would seem that I owe you."

* * *

The line "We should stimulate each other to orgasm" is from the mind of **starrysummernights,** though I wish I could take credit for it...


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock bent over the corpse, magnifying glass out, examining the nearly invisible pin pricks on her neck.

"I want to give John a blowjob, but I've never actually performed one before." After a few moments silence, he looked up at Molly, who was staring at him with a look of complete surprise on her face.

"You- _what?_"

Sherlock sighed; he hated repeating himself, especially when he knew that she had heard what he had said. "I understand the basic mechanics, of course, but I have read that experience works better than simply researching them. I have a feeling John would protest if I gained experience elsewhere."

Molly smiled, "Yes, he probably would."

"I assume you have performed fellatio on your boyfriends. Do you have any advice?" he asked, still half bent over the dead woman on Molly's table.

"Why don't you ask him what he likes?" she said after a few moments.

Sherlock looked up at her sharply, "That's not very romantic. John likes romantic."

"Buy a Cosmo, then. They'll probably be able to help more than I will."

"What is a Cosmo?"

Molly sighed, "It's a magazine. Look, I'll go get one for you during my lunch."

"But practical experience is generally considered better than research," Sherlock argued.

"Well, you're not getting practical experience with me."

"Very well then," Sherlock snapped his magnifying glass shut, "I'll be back later when you have the toxicology report."

* * *

"What do you enjoy when receiving fellatio?" Sherlock asked suddenly, startling John out of his book.

"What?" he asked, voice only coming out as a squeak.

"You heard what I said. I've been reading about it, and Cosmo gives advice, but it also suggests asking my man about what he enjoys."

"Your man?" John wasn't sure why he was surprised at Sherlock's frank way of asking about a blowjob, but hearing those words in his deep baritone was almost too much.

"That's what they say. Well?"

"Why on earth are you asking?"

"I want to reciprocate, John, but as I have never performed fellatio before, I wanted to do research. It is all very confusing. Therefore, I followed the suggestion of asking you what you enjoy."

"But why?"

Sherlock bit his lip and looked down, a sure sign he was embarrassed by what he was about to say. "I want to make sure I do it well," he said quietly.

"You don't have to do anything…"

"I _want_ to. I… Could you… Could you talk me through it?"

John swallowed. He shouldn't be this turned on, but the idea of guiding Sherlock with filthy words made his pants even tighter, if that were possible.

"Alright, come on," John said, leading him to the bedroom, standing by the bed. He held out a hand, drawing Sherlock close and pulling him down for a kiss. Sherlock sighed against John's lips, arms tightening and melding his body against John's. Over the last few weeks he had become very adept at kissing, making John weak at the knees.

John pulled back slightly; "Undress," he ordered. Sherlock's hands came up, fingers flying over the buttons. John pushed his hand away. "Slowly," he amended.

Sherlock pushed John down onto the edge of the bed, backing up. He stood awkwardly, a slight look of panic on his features. He slowly popped each button, the V of alabaster skin peeking through the dark purple fabric.

"Come here," John ordered, he could tell Sherlock was uncomfortable, and he didn't want to push him. He pulled him between his legs and craned his neck, pressing slow kisses along the line of skin. "God, you're gorgeous," he said, making Sherlock blush slightly. John leaned back, pulling him with him. Sherlock braced his hands on either side of John's head, dipping his head to gently kiss his lips while John worked at the button of his trousers. Letting them pool on the floor, Sherlock straddled John, the thin fabric of his pants doing very little to contain his erection.

"Undress me," John ordered, his Captain Watson voice taking over. Sherlock smiled, unwrapping John slowly, making sure to kiss him thoroughly. Soon, they both were naked and stretched out on the bed, Sherlock waiting for instructions.

John rolled onto his back, "Straddle me." Sherlock obeyed, sitting close enough that their cocks brushed against each other. John actually felt the rush of blood downward; he had to fight to breath normally. He reached up, pulling Sherlock down toward him for a kiss. John threw his head back, and Sherlock took the invitation, pressing hot, wet kisses down his neck. John gasped as Sherlock licked a line back up, ending with the sensitive skin below his ear. It was one of John's favourite spots; he would have sworn it had a direct link to his cock.

"Can I suck you off?" Sherlock whispered in his ear. John let out a strangled noise- hearing those words in his deep baritone made his heart beat faster. John thought that he could probably come from just hearing Sherlock's voice.

"Sit up," John ordered, "I need to shift. I want to see your lips wrapped around my cock." Sherlock moved, allowing John to prop himself up using several pillows.

"Can I…" he trailed off, looking at John for permission.

"No," John ordered, "I want you to tease me."

Sherlock took a shuddering breath, hand reaching down to grip his own cock as he kissed the crease of John's thigh.

"Don't touch yourself. Not yet."

Sherlock let out a whimper against John's stomach, bringing up both hands to grip John's hips. "Please," he begged.

"No," was the firm reply. John watched Sherlock as he trailed his tongue along John's abdomen, thumbs drawing circles on his hips. Sherlock sat back, head dipping as he pressed butterfly kisses against John's inner thigh.

"Can I touch it?" Sherlock asked, looking up at John.

"Not yet. You've got to try better." Sherlock looked up and raised an eyebrow, leaving John slightly worried. He watched Sherlock as he reached up, pinching one nipple sharply. John gasped- none of his girlfriends had ever shown any interest in particular that area of him and it seemed he was particularly sensitive there.

"Like that, do you?" Sherlock purred, coming up to take the other side in his mouth, worrying at the already hard nub. John's fingers threaded through his curls, holding his head in place as he sucked, making him almost painfully hard.

"Now?" he asked, blowing cool air over one nipple.

"Yes," was John's quick reply, "You certainly are eager, aren't you?"

Sherlock scooted down, fingers whispering over John's cock. He moaned, the slight contact not nearly enough.

"More," John demanded, "Take your hand and wrap it around me." Sherlock obeyed, pumping his hand, hand circling around John's cock.

"Is that alright?" Sherlock asked, sounding slightly unsure.

"Perfect," John said. It was amazing how something so simple made him feel like he was on fire. Electricity flowed through him; he felt himself trembling as he watched Sherlock catalogue his reactions. Without waiting for John's permission, he dipped his head down, pressing a light kiss to the side of his cock.

"Take me in your mouth." Sherlock wrapped his lips around, taking in only the tip. He sucked sharply, making John's hips buck up. Sherlock seemed surprised, gagging slightly before quickly removing his mouth.

"Sorry," John apologized, "Put your hand on my hip, it'll help me from losing control again. It is ridiculously hot watching you suck me."

Sherlock smirked before replacing his mouth, taking slightly more in this time. He flicked his tongue over his over sensitive head sending a jolt of pleasure coursing through John, and he realized that he wasn't going to last much longer. He would have been embarrassed by how little time it had taken to bring him to the edge, but he was so turned on by this whole experience that it really was a wonder he hadn't come with the first touch.

Sherlock added a hand, removing his mouth from John's cock to say, "I could spend hours doing this. Someday I will. Teasing, sucking, tasting you." John breathed in sharply, and his orgasm ripped through him, riding out the waves with each pull of Sherlock's hand.

"You can touch yourself now," he ordered, looking down at Sherlock. It was only a moment before he followed him, collapsing against John's stomach. He carded his fingers through Sherlock's hair, the need for sleep overwhelming his need to clean up. Fortunately, Sherlock seemed to have some energy to pad to the bathroom and bring back a flannel, quickly wiping John clean.

"You missed a spot," John pointed out, taking the flannel and wiping off Sherlock's cheek, "Come back here." He opened his arms and Sherlock climbed back into bed. He tucked himself alongside John, head resting on the older man's chest.

"Can we do this every night?" Sherlock asked, "I have lots of ideas."

"I'm sure you do," John said as he drifted off.

* * *

A/N: This story has gotten away from me. What initially began as a short one-shot has turned into a multi-chapter fic (with a good bit of PWP in there). I have at least 2 more chapters planned, but I will also be turning my attention to some other pieces that I've been working on.


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